


What A Sight For Sore Eyes

by DaFox12



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Childhood Friends AU, Childhood Friends and Famous AU, Fluff (eventually), Gay, Himbo, M/M, Pining, Some angst, famous au, lonely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaFox12/pseuds/DaFox12
Summary: Baz Pitch lives a pretty miserable life. Simon Snow lives a life as a pop star. But once, they were two boys who didn't know how to express their feelings to one another in their backyards under a big old tree. Maybe they still have something between them.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Ginger & Agatha Wellbelove, Penelope Bunce/Micah Cordero, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 15





	What A Sight For Sore Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A friend got me into Conan Gray. Can't stop thinking about Snowbaz as a result. So, here you go. I'm sure something like this has been done before, and this is RIFE with fanfic cliches, but I'm allowed to indulge once in a while. Sue me. <3

It isn’t as though Baz expects him to see him. He never does. He never has. Of course, there’s always the underlying hope that he will see him, that he’ll recognize him in the crowd, stop the show, call him up on stage, profess his undying love in front of a crowd, and kiss him amid gasps until the audience claps and they move on and can go get married and have children and live happily ever after… 

It was easier to dream that way when they were kids. The two of them would lay under this big tree that grew just a little bit away from their houses. Under that tree, they’d hold hands, dream about being mature adults who knew how the world worked, then they’d play until they passed out, one on top of the other. 

Baz had his first kiss under that tree. With him. 

They talked about the future, their hopes, their dreams… Every single dream they could ever conceive under that tree involved one another. He dreamed of being a star, singing in front of crowds as they cheered for him, living a life only a chosen few ever could. In those dreams, he would tell Baz how before every concert, he’d bring him up on stage and introduce him as his handsome best friend, and how he wouldn’t start the concert until the crowd cheered for him. He promised Baz they’d record a song together, even if Baz didn’t like his own voice, and they could sing it together during every concert. 

Baz had dreams, too, but he much preferred to listen to his. The way he told the stories, it always seemed so real. Like he was convinced they would happen, and little by little, Baz let himself believe them too. Baz fell into the trap of dreaming with that beautiful boy, holding his hand under that tree, watching him look up at the stars. 

Baz told him once that he would be along for the ride. That he would always be by his side, even as he drew into the big bright world he talked about with such excitement, how he would cheer him up after a bad day, how he would kiss him after every concert, how they could cuddle together in the tour bus and do it all again the next day. How they would live together, and escape the little town they grew up in. 

Then his mom died. Baz didn’t know how to comfort him, didn’t know what to say, never had the words. Baz had lost his own mother when he was young, but it was different: he’d still grown up with Daphne, and for a great many years, he hadn’t known the difference. Baz didn’t know it then, but that event was what would lead him to here, waiting out in the cold London murk, instead of by his side on stage. 

After his mother died, he was different. Fueled by some kind of passion that Baz couldn’t understand. They drifted apart before Baz had a chance to say goodbye, because the next time he reached out, he was talking to a big star with sold out concerts and several number one hits on the charts. Then, he was on tour, the bright British lad taking on America. 

Tonight was his fifth concert in the UK as a whole. Baz had been to every single one of them. Along for the ride, just like he’d said. At least as much as he could afford. 

The crowd cheered and screeched when Simon walked in the front door of the theater, flashing a grin. Penny, his manager, trotted behind him. It took everything Baz had not to shout out and wave, to not draw attention to himself in this crowd. 

After Simon walked in, there was about another hour wait until the concert would start. Of course Baz was here early -- he had better things to do, sure, but Simon was worth it. He put on a wonderful show, and… It was Simon. Baz knew that they’d never be those kids they once were, but being here felt right. Supporting Simon felt right. Baz took his seat when the time came and enjoyed the view of the stage until he felt his phone vibrate.

He rolled his eyes. Either it was his father, messaging him to check in on how his grades were, (still immaculate, Father, nothing has changed in the last two days), or it was Dev and Niall, whining back and forth in their groupchat like always. It wasn’t as if anyone else wanted to message Baz. 

As it turned out, it was Dev and Niall. Baz resisted the urge to change their chat name from “The Lonely Gays Club” to the much more fitting “Two Boyfriends and Their Third Wheel That All Happen To Share a Flat” for the third time today alone, but his better sense once again beat out his desire to shut the two of them up. 

Dev: Hey, Bazzy, did you pick up the ranch like i asked you?  
Dev: Bazzy?  
Dev: Baz…  
Dev: Basil!  
Niall: Babe, hes at a concert  
Dev: Who, Simon Snow  
Niall: (☉_☉) how did u know  
Dev: bc hes a sad lonely gay  
Dev: pls pick up ranch on the way home  
Dev: also have fun

Baz typed out: “I loathe both of you,” but deleted it and replaced it with a smiley face and a thumbs up. 

He refused to look at any more of their messages before the concert began. 

When Simon first peeked his head on stage, he did the same routine he always did. A bathrobe, hair disheveled, looking like he just woke up. 

“What? Wait, Penny… What? You said they weren’t gonna be here for another hour!” he shouted. Penny peeked her head out from backstage.

“I said that an hour ago, Si! What are you doing out here in a bathrobe? Come on, come get some real clothes on, you’ve got a show!” The crowd laughed along as Simon wrung out his face in his hands.

“But Penny… I’m really comfortable! I like this bathrobe! Can’t I just do the show in this?” 

Baz had heard the routine enough by now that he knew it by heart, but he couldn’t help but smile and laugh along all the same. It was so him, and it made Baz feel like Simon hadn’t changed one bit. 

“No Simon, you need to get backstage now! Do I need to call your father?”

Baz could remember a time when they were kids where Penny would make the same threats. They never worked then, because Simon knew she would never follow through. Penny would never subject Simon to whatever punishment his father could come up with. 

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t call my father! I’m coming, I’m coming…” 

He threw his hands up in defeat and stormed off stage. Penny winked at the audience.

Baz counted on his fingers now. Low, so no one would see. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

Simon burst through the curtains now, guitar in hand. Miraculously, his clothes were on just as they should be. An old beat up jacket clung tight around a tight white t-shirt, and a scarf sat around his neck. Baz was sure the scarf would be in the crowd by the end of the night. The curtains rolled open behind him, and the band began to play.

Simon’s first song of the night was always the same no matter what, the same electrifying lyrics and impressive guitar play, the kind that could never do more than hint and tantalize the audience, make them salivate for what was to come. Simon’s face was alive with excitement. He smiled through every lyric, shook the sweat out of his hair, and ended the first song on his knees, reaching down to touch the members of the audience in the front. Baz felt his heart flip-flop, just like he was one of the prepubescent girls that Simon had just touched but would never possibly get with. 

Surely they knew that, right? They were much too young, and even when they were old enough, they weren’t exactly Simon’s type… 

The next few songs were punctuated by the stories of Simon’s songwriting process. Baz longed to hear his name thrown into the mix, or even a mention of his best friend, the one who used to correct all of the grammatical mistakes on his songs, who helped him find the right rhyming words, the one who listened to these songs before they were popular, the person other than Simon himself that had held those notebooks the longest, but by now, he wasn’t surprised to go without a mention. An old forgotten friend didn’t make for good storytelling, anyway. 

During the song that Baz had his hands in the deepest, the one he had practically wrote himself, the one Simon used to say was his favorite, he swore Simon saw him. He swore Simon saw him and kept his eyes locked on him until the song was over. But after the song was over, he didn’t look in Baz’s direction again.

After a few more songs, edging ever closer to the end of the night, Simon pulled the mic off the stand and went to the edge of the stage and sat down, legs hanging, kicking like he was a little kid. One of the girls there nearly fainted, and the rest started to fan themselves. Somehow, they all got the message that those boots weren’t for touching. 

“So, everyone, I wanted to just pause for a minute,” Simon started. “Well, actually, first off: is everyone having a good time?” He held out the mic to the audience and plugged one ear. They roared back. He grinned.

“Awesome! Good! Love to hear it! So, you know that I love to tell you guys about my life and stuff, because without you, I couldn’t be up on this stage. I couldn’t do half the things I do without you all here supporting me.” The crowd screamed back again. “So, I kinda feel like I owe it to you to give this next song a little introduction. There’s this person who has been in my life for a while, and I’ve kept it a secret, because I wanted to keep something private for myself.”

Something in Baz’s chest went haywire. He knew, logically, that SImon couldn’t possibly be talking about him -- they hadn’t had contact in over four years now. But his heart didn’t get the memo, speeding up in wet clumps with the thought that tonight could be the night that Simon Snow saw him and welcomed him up on stage. 

Hmph. Baz hated thinking like a teenage girl. He knew he was better than this. 

“But there’s a song we wrote together, a long, long time ago, and I think it’s time that it gets shown off.” Baz almost leapt off his chair. Every instinct he had told him to run to that stage. He physically gripped the armrests to stay in place. “So, I would like to welcome to the stage my beautiful, talented, wonderful girlfriend, Agatha Wellbelove!”

He thought… But Simon didn’t… His GIRLFRIEND?

The thought was still on his mind, and painted the rest of the concert and ugly flavor of nausea. 

The crowd bellowed out another cheer, this time so loud that the entire theater seemed to rumble. Baz took a breath and relaxed back into his seat. The song was beautiful, of course, but the nagging disappointment in his chest, no matter unwarranted, took control over his emotional processing of the piece. He couldn’t dissect and understand the meaning or melody of a song when all he wanted to do was punch himself in his too-big nose for thinking that Simon could ever do so much as remember him anymore. 

Simon closed out the night with the finishing number he had written himself, the one that Baz told him didn’t need any kind of change. It was aptly titled, “Bring Down the House,” and it did just that -- as Simon waved and his band packed up and left, the entire room was screaming, whooping, hollering. Several young girls were sobbing. Baz sort of felt like joining, though he was much to dignified to do so in public. 

Simon Snow had a girlfriend. Not only did Baz have no chance of getting noticed by Simon Snow, he also had no chance of being romantically linked with Simon Snow. He shook his head and left as everyone else did. He was just as foolish as one of these children that thought they had a chance with him. 

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was going to die in love with Simon Snow, miserable and pining, and Simon Snow would die happily with his pretty, cute, blonde, fellow-popstar girlfriend. 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

“Yo, Baz, you look extra grim this evening. What’s the matter, bud?” Niall asked from Dev’s lap. Baz ignored him.

“Oh, hey, Baz. Did you get that ranch like I asked for?” Dev asked, peeking up around the couch. Some crappy animated movie flashed on the screen. Baz sneered at him once he couldn’t see his face and walked right back through the door. He made sure to slam it hard, just to emphasize how irritated he was. It wasn’t as if either of them would actually stop sucking on each other’s face long enough to talk to him, anyway. He wouldn’t respond if they did try to talk, but it would at least be nice to have some indication that they gave a shit.

Baz knew he was being dramatic.

The only good part of this whole ranch debacle was that the nearest convenience store wasn’t especially far from their flat. And the rain had finally stopped. Maybe there were two good things. 

Baz peeked in, the sharp light harsh on his eyes, and walked in without a word, darting directly for the refrigerator section. No one else was in the building but him and the small clerk, playing on her phone. 

When he got to the refrigerator section, he paused for longer than he meant to. He was sure he’d seen ranch here before, but he couldn’t…

The bell of the door chimed, loud and obnoxious. Baz must have missed it when he walked in himself. Still, he didn’t bother to look back. Kept his focus on the ranch search.

“I can walk in to a freaking convenience store myself, Pen. I’m a big boy, you know!” Simon Snow shouted, pulling the door closed behind him with a rough slam. He blew a kiss. 

Baz thought he was going to pass out. 

What was he looking for again? 

The door opened again, the bell dinging louder than before. 

“Simon, you have bodyguards for a reason! There are crazy people out there!” 

“Penelope. Penelope. I love you. I adore you. You’re an angel, you’re the light of my life, I’m the light of your’s-”

“Both of us are in relationships with other people.”

“Ah, speaking of which, shouldn’t you call Micah? It’s late. You always call him after concerts.” 

“Simon. You’re changing the subject. Bodyguards.”

“I said, I’m okay without them!”

“Fine, then can I at least fire them if you aren’t going to use them?”

“Yes, ma’am. Or, wait. Maybe not. Can we talk about this tomorrow when I haven’t had a concert only two hours ago?”

Baz could practically hear Penny rolling her eyes. By now, he’d given up on hunting for… What was it? Thousand island dressing?<

“Yes, Si. I’m going in the bus to call Micah. Please please please come right back when you’re done.”

“Yes, boss.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, Penn? I love you.”

“I love you too, Simon.”

Baz turned to leave. He could not stay here. He needed to get out of this store and get home before--

“Baz?” asked Simon Snow’s voice, as clear as anything ever could be while across a convenience store at two in the morning.


End file.
